Floatation Devices

I've woken up alarmingly early for a Sunday and there's no hangover despite the cheap alcohol that's gone into my system the night before. Turns out drunk me is considerate enough to do the dishes and not leave them overnight. Oh well, small victories I guess.

The mixes are taking some time for me to wrap my head around but the finish line is getting close, quite close. Eight songs, many orgasms and a few bad apples here and there. Balance. L-R.

I tell A that I want to see him. He tells me something I cannot quite understand. Turns out he's trying to phrase something in hindi and google translate is a little bit of a fail. It's rather cute. He's so adorable, even from miles and miles away, through a damn computer screen. What a beautiful soul, I think to myself. There's not a hint of jadedness or cruelty in him. It feels unreal almost. Also, that accent, so yum! I could listen to him talk forever, it's a party in my pants. But superficiality aside, there's something strikingly different about his worldview. He sees me as a lover, always and forever. He doesn't want to own me, possess me like some sort of a commodity. He doesn't want to destroy me. He only wants to love me, make love to me. Mon petit prince, mon cœur, mon amour. 

Lover lover lover,
lovers everywhere.

I'm still friends with so many of them. They come around, they always do. The way I see it, after a while the sexual intimacy becomes secondary. I've come a full circle with some of them. We go our own ways, we live our own lives and yet sometimes we end up going home together and sleeping in each other's arms.

Life sometimes throws these little inside jokes and you can't help but marvel at how wonderfully weird it can get.


Anyway, it's Sunday and I have to mop the floors and pay the bills today. Mundane would be an understatement. My fingers are sore from playing too much guitar but like a drug I know I'll start getting itchy in a while and abandon domestic responsibilities to go noodle around for a little bit.



Sometimes in life, you have to jump into the sea without the safety of a floatation device. If you trust the universe, you'll always end up finding something to hold on to. I don't want to reach the shore. For now I'm happy swimming and not drowning. My floatation devices will help me withstand the scariest storms.
Trust.
It's always been more important than love.

Demon

The tentacles pull you further down into the deep, deep ocean. You're helpless like a child. You're running out of breath, you're forgetting how to swim.

How soon is now, how much longer?

Some days are harder than most, you try and yet you can't think of a reason to hold on. Letting go has never felt so easy. Write it all down on a piece of paper, articulate the thoughts and try to blame no one else but yourself.

The trance-like state induced by meditation starts to get harder, darker. There is a strange kind of manic euphoria. Like the queen who rises from the underbelly of shit and duplicity and destruction, you transcend. The moments are rare but you know, only you know that it exists. You're careful not to tell anyone. They wouldn't believe you, they haven't seen what's on the other side. It is difficult to fathom so they brush it away, going about their daily, circular existence. The loop goes on and on.That one infinite moment of peace (?)...is not for everyone, it is the most elusive, most sacred thing you can experience.

On nights you try to embrace sobriety, no longer feeling the urge to run away. What are you running from? You're running in circles, never ahead.

How soon is now? 

How soon is now? 

Eat your vegetables. Do your kegels. Don't let fuckboys mess with your head. 

Matriarch

Of what use is my voice if I don't lend it to those who are unable to speak, fight for themselves?  The instincts are starting to change, blossom in areas I assumed were dead and barren. There will be no turning point, turning back. There cannot be. If destiny is pre-determined then there is no choice, is there?  Awareness is optional, suffering is constant. 

"The Light Of My Life/The Fire Of My Loins"

The trouble with great literature is that it pushes you to explore sides of yourself you didn't know existed in the first place.  For a while it was a lot of fun. The climaxes, the look on their faces as they reached a point of ecstasy and delirium.  Sometimes I'll hear some of the voices, gently reminding me of what a nymph I've been to them. I have been cruel, but also always very loving. It's never about the future with me, I only want to create moments. But how long will this last, am I going run like this forever? Abandoment issues. Older men. The narcissistic cycle of love and destruction. But it has always been worth it. If I could do everything all over again, I wouldn't change a thing.  "পাগল মেয়ে, আমি ভয় পাই না।" 

molly

It's my first binge of the year and somehow I can't stop thinking about him.

I instinctively reach for my phone and he calls.

It's so fucking old-school.

Proper romance.

Butterflies in my stomach and all that. 

The ecstasy hits me. It's beautiful and it's pure. I dance I dance I dance.

I want to kiss him.

I want to hold him.

I want to make love to him.

I want him, so much.

It's only his company that I seek.

Oh this cute little thing, he's stolen my heart.

I haven't felt this way in so long, so long.

I want to love him. 

I only want to love him.

I want to love only him.

It's only day 18 and I guess I've made slight progress. It feels like everything is in motion. Risk it all, go big or go home.

But it is time. I need to finish this.

I have the greatest around me, helping me in every way. I want to do this. So bad so bad.

Songs About Lovers, so I can go back to loving one, being one. 

If there was a God,

It would be I.

It would be you.

We are all the same, only our purposes are different.

We come here for a reason, to leave behind a story so our kind can grow.

The ones who believe.

The universe tests my strength time and again. But I am not afraid. It also nurtures me to fill my soul a little bit more every day that I live. 

The compass always shows the way.

Sometimes you climb mountains, you swim oceans and you walk through deserts.

It is nothing but a test.

This life is nothing but a test.

I have faith. I still do. 

Redemption comes only to those who truly believe. 

I like his hands. His wrists. I've always been one for details. 

Lips. 

And eyes.

That is all I know for now. 

And yet,

there is a strange craving, 

I only want to give you my love. 

It's cold outside, you keep me warm.

But I don't want to sleep, I don't want you anymore.

Something's changed and I can't quite figure out what. 

It's probably me.

Yup.

It's me alright.

I feel nothing, nothing at all. 

I'm waiting for you to finish so I can go back home and sleep in my own bed, by myself. 

It's strange how time changes everything.

You're no longer you and I'm no longer me.

We're no longer who we used to be.

I'm not even sure why I'm here, with you.

I feel nothing, nothing at all. 

Is this it then, is this how it's supposed to be from now on?

This strange alienation; this endless void.

He plucked all the petals. Nothing remains of me anymore.

The beautiful little girl has been broken, there is no recovery, only acceptance. 

Oino

I want you.
I want you so much.
I want you, like a greedy child.

I want your body.
I want your touch.
I want your hands on me, caressing every inch.

I want your mouth, your eyes, your lips, your Adam's apple, your hands, your feet, your torso, your navel, your manhood. I want it all.
I want you.

I want to kiss you, taste you.
I want to caress you. I want to lick you. I want to bite you. I want to suck you dry. I want to see the madness in your eye, your throbbing heart and your erection. I want it all. Your beauty, your ugly.
I want to make you orgasm like no one else can, like no one else ever will.
I want to love you, I want to fuck you.

It doesn't matter if we have to let go eventually, I don't want to keep you forever.
I want you, one more time.

You.
You.
You.
Only you.
I want you.

I have faith. It's you I want. Come to me, won't you?

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZJPjSaOcVwg

Existence

I am nothing.
I belong nowhere.
And yet, I am infinite.
I am the universe.



In my dream there is a beach, the sun and him. He says things I do not understand. But I remember his touch, the way he kissed. His hair, golden, shines in the light. I hold him. I hold him for a long time, I don't want to let go.
I am a monster in real life. We swim, we have a picnic of sorts. I love how his dog licks my face. For a second I wonder if I can pull this off for the rest of my life. Him, his dog, me and the sea.
I am a coward. I run every time things start to get a little bit serious, more concrete. He forgives me, he is pure like the water we swim in. There is no cruelty in his eyes, there is only love.
I run forward and run back. Back to him, for solace.

Mon cœur, je suis désolée..

You sometimes like instructions,

You like having no control.

And then you switch.

The hunted becomes the hunter, the lamb becomes the lioness.

It's not like how it was with him.

You're dry like the Sahara, so far away from the climax.

Abandon ship, abandon all hope. 

You want him, you know you do.

You want him one more time to fix all that was broken. 

But you no longer exist for him, you silly little girl.

Rigor Mortis: Review of 2016

The noise outside is starting to get to me, mess with my sanity. It's so loud, so loud. It's always SO loud. I want to shut my ears and make it all go away. But things are worse within. I want the voice in my head to shut up, even if for a second.
While I'm determined to finally stop fooling around and get to work on my record, I'm wondering if it's worth it, to sort of martyr myself for the sake of my art. I have been tracing the patterns lately and it all seems so futile. Music keeps me from killing myself. as incredibly clichéd as that may sound. But I don't know anymore if that's the way it really is or if that's just the clinical depression rearing its ugly head.
Too many pimps around me, too many whores.
I don't belong. I can never belong. It's not like I want to.
Living in Calcutta shields me from the ugliness of money, it frees me from the constant pressure of being relevant. I do not seek validation through my art, I only want to express. I only want to feel.

The work on Songs About Lovers hasn't even started and yet I am already so emotionally drained from trying to find a way to give voice to my innermost thoughts. I'm picturing it as having sex; letting go of all my inhibitions, breaking all walls within. I don't care how the world perceives me. If they don't ask the right questions then they'll never really know who I am, what I stand for. At this point in life and love, I have nothing to lose. So I guess I'm going to try to be as honest as I possibly can. It's a struggle because I'm jaded beyond repair. But that's not an excuse. This is something that I have to do for myself, this is something that I need to do for myself.

This year may not have been as adventurous as the last few but it feels like I've finally been able to slay a lot of my demons. I lost the plot somewhere in-between and maybe that was the best thing that could have happened to me.

Acceptance brings a strange sense of calm, comfort. I no longer feel the need to try and hide all that crazy. While I did, for the longest time, run away from the whole rape thing, I know now that I can never really discard the memory, pretend like it never happened. Because it did. Life is not Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind where you just erase the memories that cause you pain. This is much deeper; a sort of foundation of  my strength, all my courage.
I was going about it all wrong all this while.
When I faced him a decade later, to prove a point to myself about being strong and invincible, I was hiding behind a false sense of normalcy. No, it's not normal for a 12-year old to be abused by someone. It's not normal that my first sexual act was statutory rape. It has obviously fucked me up in ways from which I will never recover. I'm never going to be "normal" and you know what, that's alright. While it may have scarred me for life, it's something that makes me want to be a better person every damn day. It makes me want to spread love into a world which could definitely do with more kindness. There's no such thing as too much love.
13 years later, I no longer demonise every partner, every lover that I have. Maybe I did go through a bad patch, but it's becoming easier to love and trust every day. Because I'm starting to love and trust myself too. It amuses me when I scare people by being my true self. I don't know who else to be, how else to be. In all my flaws and all my glory, here I stand before you, world. Here I am, no mask of pretence, no fakery. It may not always be a pretty picture but my demons are a strange kind of beautiful. I am not going to hide them under the carpet anymore. I no longer feel ashamed.

"freedom was just another word, for nothing left to lose"

It's true. This is the most aloof I've ever been. Maybe my detachment will only grow the older I get. It's okay though. I'm going to be okay.



While it seems like a man caused a lot of heartbreak in the recent past, it wasn't really his fault. It was never about him anyway. I was more broken by the fact that I chose to give my love and attention to somebody who simply didn't want it. Like many others, like me, he ran because he was scared of falling in love. I've wasted a lot of energy hiding behind a stone-cold, horny exterior. But who I am trying to fool. The minute I sense something potentially permanent and monogamous with someone, I run in the opposite direction too. It's because stability and the permanence scare me. The past has left a bitter taste in my mouth. I feel vulnerable, so I protect my heart fiercely.
So in many ways, this man was a sort of mirror to my own patterns, my own flaws. Who am I to make a villain out of somebody who is just like me!
The sex too, this year, was mediocre at best. I have gotten quite good at understanding and satiating my needs. After all the mindless fucking, I no longer have the will to have sex with someone just for the sake of it. I would rather stay home, masturbate and climax. My partner can never understand my energy if they're not looking for intimacy. Nobody wins because the pleasure is only superficial that way. There is no groundbreaking orgasm for either of us.
Believe me, I've had some intense sex in this lifetime and I know that it exists. I am no longer willing to compromise. I want quality and not just quantity. 

I have reached a point in life where it is essential to climax, to finish what I start. Otherwise it's a waste of my time. I am done chasing, it was never my thing. You have to come to me. I'll give you all my love and all my soul. I will not kiss any more mouths till I find something real. I may have fucked up a lot this year, not anymore.
I am no longer afraid of love. I am no longer afraid of heartache. I may not be able to fit in everywhere and that's more of a good thing than bad. It's a little bit scary to know that I will not be easily understood and that's something I'll just have to learn to deal with.


Speaking of scary, the maternal instincts have been kicking in lately. It's funny how normal for most is often bizarre for me. I have never pictured myself as a caregiver, but there have been strange cravings lately. The need to do something more fulfilling with my life. Yes sure the debauchery is great, what next? What is rock n' roll? I love being on the road and having all these adventures but there are times when I wonder what it would be like to eventually have a baby. Will I ever be a mother, do I want to ever want to be a mother? Motherhood is not just the process of birthing and raising a child, it is an instinct. One that I cannot escape. As my body clock starts to make its urgency felt, I realise now that these are things I'll have to think about eventually. Running away is futile.

The moment you work out all your mommy and daddy issues, the brain rewires itself into getting fixated on strange things. Levelling up on the video game-like simulation that is your life.


Thankfully there is too much on my mind at the moment, too much to be done, to ponder over the possibilities of the future. Time has never been kind, but it exists only because of my conditioning. Every thing in the universe has a rhythm to it, even the future. I have to be patient and wait for whatever life has in store for me.

2017 will see the little girl grow up a little bit more. This transition into womanhood is scary but I'm taking my time, easing into it till it perfectly sets into my bones. 25 years baby, I've survived. There's no way in hell I'm giving up so easy, without a fight.
I know there's more.
The best is yet to come.
Faith/fate.

Human

Nothing changes.

You become only more grotesquely inhuman with time.

Sometimes you're the sacrificial lamb,

Sometimes you're the butcher.

It all adds up, like an infinite loop.

A pattern.

Math/art.

Your consciousness warns you to stay within the limits, you're scared of losing your mind.

"How bad can it be?"

"How much can it hurt afterall?"

You've been through worse, you've been to hell and back. 

So you let the apathy and the indifference crawl into your skin, slowly, very slowly.

Remember the time you got jacked up on street drugs? Remember your reflection in the mirror as you were barely able to recognise yourself?

"Never again"

But you lie.

You keep waking up from the same nightmare and by now you've figured it out.

There is no escape.

It ends when you do. 

So you succumb to the stereotype.

Build your walls so high, lock yourself in your castle of solitude.

Brick by brick, mechanical like a machine.

Memories cemented with so much pain and suffering. 

You almost enjoy it don't you, you masochist.

It makes you happy, to cut yourself open and bleed like that.

'My pain is the only thing that makes me human.

Without it, I am nothing. My universe is a lie.'

"Let's watch the stars tonight."

You take his heart and break it, you have no intention of keeping him.

Oh you cruel little thing.

How dare you feel sorry for someone doing to you what you do to them.

Nothing changes.

You project only yourself onto others.

You are the only one, you are your salvation.

Your body is only a mere vehicle. 

"Infinite" 

"Deathless and birthless"

Search

it's a constant struggle,
striving to achieve the seemingly impossible.
i could turn out like Sixto,
but i don't have the talent, neither do i have the sensitivity.

sometimes i stay in bed for days when things don't go my way.
i let my illnesses get the better of me.
but i am human, so fragile.

tell me this is only a nightmare.
hands everywhere, hands that deflower me, rob me of my sense of self.
the road to recovery is too long and it takes only a second to give up.

feelings no longer make sense,
warriors fight alone.

i am
i am
i am every day, all the time
but who?

Saving Grace

There is a boy, I like it when we talk about the universe and stuff. 

I like it when we walk around town, hand in hand in the cool winter evenings.

I like it when we play our drunken games,

I like the way we kiss. 

But I am unable to give him my heart.

He'll leave when it's time and I know the exact drill by now.

It's strange how much this year has changed me, the walls are up and I don't have the strength to break them down on my own anymore.

If you wait, my little boy, I will give you my all.

Now is not the time, I need you to be a little more patient with me.

The universe has always given me signs, it has always made things right.

So what is it that I'm supposed to do now?!

Warpaint

And after he's gone I carefully examine myself in the mirror. I don't know where all the marks are from.

Was it him, or him, or him? 

Three too many. 

"Well done S, your studliness, even though just for a night, is infinite." 

It's a sort of poetic justice to end up ultimately, after all that fooling around, to end up with an old lover. There is a strange familiarity as we explore each other's bodies. I don't mind the feeling of comfort, I don't mind it at all. I check to see what time it is, there's still a while before we have to run back to our own lives. The night was long and the morning doesn't make me feel terrible about myself. I think about someone I clearly shouldn't be thinking about. "What the fuck is wrong with me?"
So I go back to sleep. I find it rather amusing that my aversion to cuddling is starting to fade away the older I grow.

Love, unlove.
Learn, unlearn.

There is retribution in knowing that spotting him in a crowd of thousands means nothing to me at all. I don't tumble, I don't fall. I don't give him a second glance. He's just another one to me now. I don't feel the need to venture out into the plebeian world, hoping to bump into him. I get a lot of love because I give a lot of love. There is a strange sense of calm, there is a strange sense of closure. Although this was not what I wanted, but I'll take whatever I can get at this point just so I can move on.

He may be a star and everything fancy.

But I'm no riffraff either. 

It's ironic that I get the things he so badly craves for, without even asking. 

As I sing my songs, I sing them for the people and I sing them for myself. My life has always been full of adventures and misadventures and he's just one of the many blurry faces that, quite frankly, don't deserve my validation.

Time changes everything. 

The universe works in mysterious ways indeed.